Ames, Taken
by Staxia
Summary: A somewhat longer retelling of "Guerrero Taking Ames", only from her point of view. An attempt to capture her voice and interior monologue. Explicit, slightly dark, and intended for mature audiences only. Feedback is particularly welcome.


_Author's note: This is a companion piece to "Guerrero Taking Ames." That one was from Guerrero's p.o.v., and this is the same incident only from Ames's perspective. For a variety of reasons, it's much longer. I set a challenge to myself to try and capture her voice and I don't know how well I succeeded. (Spare and sardonic is much easier for me.) I'd love to hear your thoughts. Explicit content, so mature audiences only, please. _

"I can't believe you guys frigging blew up my frigging car!" Ames snarled. She _hoped_ she snarled. She was afraid, a little, in the back of her mind, that she whined.

Her eyes flicked to Guerrero, but his attention remained on the Beretta Cougar he'd been cleaning for most of her rant.

"Ames, I already told you, Ilsa will buy you another one," Chance said, amiable as ever, though the happy-go-lucky smile was wearing thin around the edges. Probably because he _had_ told her, four or maybe five times, Ames couldn't remember. She was just so keyed up that she kept repeating herself.

"Yeah, thanks," she grumped, but when he turned that million-watt grin on her, she couldn't help but muster a smile in return.

Her eyes lingered on Chance as he turned back to Ilsa. They were bickering again. At least _Ilsa_ thought blowing up the car was too extreme. Though she seemed more concerned about the potential lawsuits than about someone wrecking Ames's car. No one really seemed at all concerned by the fact that they'd _blown up her car_, nearly taking her with it.

Well, Chance was. Chance was concerned about _everyone_. Between his white knight complex and the crinkles around his blue eyes when he smiled, not to mention his abs, Ames knew she should be madly in love with Chance. She kinda _wanted_ to be madly in love with Chance. It would be easier than... It would be easier. But Chance cared about everybody. It wasn't special. He'd risk his life for a total stranger just as fast as he would for her. She wasn't anything special to him.

She wasn't anything special to any of them. Just the kid with a talent for locks and screwing up.

Ames glanced, again, at the small hard man sitting in the corner. He'd finished cleaning the gun and tucked it away, somewhere, out of sight. Now he was watching Ilsa and Chance do their usual verbal foreplay thing with a sardonic smile and knowing eyes. His whole body was deeply, perfectly still.

One of her foster homes, when she was about 11, always had the TV turned on to PBS, "in case the social worker comes by." One afternoon, when it was too cold to do anything else, Ames had watched a show about black holes. She didn't get a lot of it, but she remembered them talking about how a black hole was so dense that everything, even light, even time, was sucked into it.

Guerrero was like that. He was _dense_. He had his own gravity and she kept getting sucked towards him.

And never gave anything back, either. Not a glimmer of light, not a hint of response. Not since he opened that tab for her at Drake's.

When she flopped, casually, down next to him on the couch, he glanced at her and then away again. He didn't linger on her legs, even though she'd worn her favorite miniskirt. He never looked at her legs.

Maybe he wasn't a leg man, she considered, not for the first or tenth time.

_His_ legs were surprisingly strong, she knew. She'd seen him sprint up stairs wearing a 60-lb. pack and then whip a roundhouse kick at the jaw of an enemy a head taller than him. And he had large strong hands, bigger than you'd expect on a man his size. She smothered a snicker as she remembered the schoolyard joke about the size of a man's hands and the size of his-

"Ames, you need a ride home?" Chance's voice cut into her thoughts.

"What?" Ames tore her eyes off Guerrero's jeans and glanced around, her cheeks heating as she wondered if anyone had noticed her staring? "What? Yes, of course! You blew up..." she cut herself off. "Yes, thank you, I could use a ride home."

She tried not to look at Guerrero when she said it, but her attention swung towards him, moved by his personal gravity.

"I got a ... thing to do," Winston lied, quickly and badly. Ames didn't care. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Guerrero still hadn't moved.

"Alright," Chance smiled. "I gotta drive Ilsa back to the restaurant to get her briefcase. Guerrero?"

"Dude."

Ames's stomach clenched a bit as she heard the mild complaint infused in the single syllable. At the same time, her heart soared at the idea of being alone in the El Do with him - inside his gravity.

Chance did a head-tip thing and Guerrero quirked his eyebrows and a whole conversation happened between the two men in that manly silence they thought was so damned mysterious. Guerrero sighed, almost silently, and nodded.

Ames's pride flared into anger and she stood up, and if she brushed against Guerrero as she did it was _entirely_ by accident.

"Don't put yourself out, I can get home myself," she rolled her eyes, snorting. "I know a guy."

"Miss Ames, please let Mr. Guerrero drive you home," Ilsa did her 'thoughtful boss' shtick. "You've had a traumatic day."

Ames warred with herself. Her pride pinched and she hated to look like a kid, someone who couldn't even get herself home. But his gravity pulled her ...

"Oh, alright," she waved, as if she was agreeing to do them all a favor. Then, she dropped her keys.

Bending over at the hips, she picked them up from the floor slowly. The position pushed her ass right there in Guerrero's face, and the second that she did it, Ames was mortified. She snapped back up and glanced around the room, her cheeks heating.

Ilsa had one eyebrow raised, Winston was chuckling into his chins, and Chance was fighting to hide a grin.

"Let's go, Ames," Guerrero's voice was right behind her, soft and implacable. There wasn't a hint that he'd noticed her outrageous pose, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around. Instead she just stood there, feeling his heat, his solidity, his ... his _density_.

Heart slamming in her throat, Ames nodded and kept her eyes averted as she followed Guerrero out of the office.

In the elevator, Guerrero leaned backward against the wall, his ankles crossed, eyes focused on some middle distance. At first, Ames tried to stay away from him, to imitate his distant coolness. But by the time the elevator door opened again, his gravity had drawn her in and she found herself, almost against her will, standing next to him, brushing her bare arm against the sleeve of his jacket.

He didn't even glance over.

"Where we going?" Guerrero asked, pushing off from the wall.

"What, you don't know where I live?"

"Course I do, dude," he glanced at her over the top of his glasses. "I was being polite."

Ames snorted a laugh.

"What?" he headed out to the street.

"I just never thought about the big bad wolf being polite."

He shrugged and kept walking.

"You know, you really are, aren't you?"

He didn't respond, just quirked an eyebrow.

"The big bad wolf," Ames grinned her lopsided smile, thrilled at the metaphor. "You're the scary thing in the woods that everyone is afraid of."

He shrugged, one shouldered, in what might have been agreement. They walked down a narrow alley to a small parking lot behind the building. Late at night, the El Do was the only car left, parked perfectly under the only working streetlamp, the warm golden color of the sodium bulb lighting the Cadillac up like a spotlight.

This far from the street, the sounds of traffic faded away and the only thing that Ames could hear were their footsteps and her own breathing. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was very alone. With the big bad wolf.

"You're not going to gobble me up, are you?" Ames joked, then winced at her own joke.

"What?" Guerrero turned and for the first time that night - for the first time _ever_, she realized - his entire concentration was on her. The pale blue eyes were focused directly on her, his body turned to face her, the weight of his attention centered on her.

His personal gravity seemed to multiply and she felt tugged closer, her heart slamming in her chest as she tried to remember what she'd said. Something about... a wolf.

"I said you're not going to gobble me up, are you?" she repeating, having trouble catching her breath. "I mean, I'm alone in a dark alley with the big bad wolf... It's what every mother warns her little girl about."

Then, emboldened by his direct and steady stare, she moved near to him and put her hand on his chest, to give him a playful push. His muscles were hard and she could feel his heat through his shirt.

He merely looked down at her hand then back up at her. Ames blanched at the cool regard and started to pull her hand away.

With a sigh, Guerrero grabbed her wrist and twisted it up behind her back, stepping in closer so that their bodies touched in a long line. Ames's heart froze in her chest for a long moment.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice choked with a combination of fear and anticipation. This was Guerrero, the most frightening man in California. Had she pushed him too far? Was this his idea of foreplay or was he going to throw her in the trunk? Her pulse was so loud she thought he could hear it.

She turned her head to look at him, over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of his face, to see what he was thinking. The movement made her hip slide against his crotch and she felt the stirrings of an erection through the stiff denim.

He pushed against her arm and walked her the last few feet to the ElDorado, bending her face down on the hood. The metal was cold through her thin top, making her nipples tighten. The chill was a shock to her system.

"Guerrero! Damnit!"

Her words seemed to annoy him and she glanced over her shoulder to look at his face. His eyes were still steady on her, his eyes nearly electric blue harsh glare of the lamp. For the first time she could read something in his expression. It looked like hunger.

"You're hurting me," she kept her voice even, a simple statement of fact.

"That's what you want, right?" Despite his cool voice, Guerrero reached down and unbuckled his belt, one handed, holding her in place with the other. Ames couldn't breathe for a moment as she realized his intention, the reality of his proximity, the raw need in his eyes. "You want the bad boy and you want me to hurt you just a little, right?"

"I was just teasing," she explained. She wanted so much more than just the bad boy...

"I know," he undid the snap on his jeans. The zipper was loud in the deserted parking lot and she squirmed in his grip, making small noises. "You've been teasing me for six months now. It's getting old."

Was he really going to take her, right here, right now? The thought made her voice shake with lust and a thread of fear. "What do you think you're doing?"

In response, he pushed harder on her arm, making her gasp with the unexpected spike of pain.

"You want the bad boy, you can have me," Guerrero continued, the coolness in his voice undercut with a sort of primal hunger that sent a pulse of desire through her whole body. "Right here, right now."

She was already panting with need when she heard the distinctive tear of a foil wrapper. She twisted to watch him unroll the condom down his length and her whole body quivered as she saw how hard he was, how much he wanted her. He stepped in closer and Ames arched her back, hungry to have him touch her, take her.

"You can also say stop," he said and Ames stared at him, confusion cutting through her haze of passion. Why would she want it to stop? "But if you say stop, it all stops. No more teasing, no more flirting, no more waving your ass at me in the conference room. Do you understand?"

He was being honorable, she finally understood, giving her a chance to back out. With his erection pushing against her thigh, he still had the strength of will to offer her a chance to back out. His control was terrifying. She shuddered to think of what it had cost him to make that offer.

"Do you understand?" he repeated, his frustration clear in his voice.

"Yes!" she gasped, open-mouthed, wanting him more than ever.

"Yes what?"

"Yes! Just, yes! To everything!" she cried, turning to see his reaction.

He looked down at her with those ice blue eyes and nodded in understanding. Then he reached down and lifted her skirt and as his fingers touched her hot skin for the first time, Ames watched his cool detachment shatter to reveal an animal hunger that terrified her more than all of his casual violence.

Then he ripped at the strap of her thong and the sudden wrenching strength in his hands made her drop her head to the hood and moan as she surrendered all control.

He settled his hand, large and hot and calloused, on her hip and stepped in closer. Ames arched her back as he nudged against her, his blunt head teasing against her slick folds. Past words, she made mindless begging noises until finally, with one smooth thrust, he filled her heat.

She surged back, her pumping hips trying to set a frantic, hungry pace. Guerrero tightened his hands on her, slowing her to his rhythm. Frustrated, nearly desperate for release, she bucked against him for a moment and then finally surrendered to his rhythm. His small murmur of approval made her sigh. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, hovering there for a long moment before slamming in again.

She cried out as he pulled out and thrust in again and again – long, slow, steady strokes that made her writhe. His pace didn't change, but he finally let go of her wrist to grip both her hips with his hands, driving even deeper. The change in pressure made her moan in pleasure as his thrusts touched something deep inside her. Ames gasped, open mouthed, as her whole body began to burn, as if his touch turned her flesh to liquid fire. Her nails raked across the hood of the car as she tried to find something hard to hold onto in the storm of pleasure. The building pressure of the heat strained her skin until, finally, it burst into a shower of golden light, blanking her senses as her whole being shuddered with a climax that left her soul bare and her body spent.

Behind her, through the haze of the blinding orgasm, she could feel his whole body, taut and hard, convulse with a low primal growl.

As the waves of pleasure stopped pounding in her blood, Ames finally rolled over to look at the man himself. She was still breathing hard and the cool night air was starting to feel chill against her bare, sweat covered body, but she paused to search his face. Had he found a moment of release from that iron control?

He eyes flashed warmly and he smiled at her before the cool facade slid back into place. She didn't mind. She knew what was behind there. She could even laugh when he tipped his head at the car and said, "Better not have scratched the paint job on the El Do."

_Finally, apologies to Tree979 for stealing her metaphor about Guerrero as The Big Bad Wolf. It was too perfect not to use again! _


End file.
